


Baby, it's cold outside

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Advent Calendar, Christmas Lights, Coffee, Fluff, Jumpers, M/M, Mild Angst, Mutual Pining, i'll add tags as it progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-03 13:50:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8716324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: On the first of December Harry finds a Starbucks near his new flat. The barista is rude, snarky, sarcastic, beautiful, curvy, blue eyed and sharp as a tack. After Harry’s insulted for his coffee choice he should really find a new route to work, maybe with a nice Costa or a Pret. Instead, he takes it as a personal challenge to impress the boy behind the counter. How many coffees will he have to drink before he succeeds? aka the advent christmassy coffee shop AU no one asked for





	1. White Americano to go

**Author's Note:**

> So like torn on the platform last year I will be posting daily updates. Also like totp it will be snapshot vignettes into part of their day, not the kind of fic that follows them through their life outside of the time they spend together (unless necessary to the plot)
> 
> Updates will be somewhere between the 500 and 1500 word marks each day, so short but sweet.
> 
> Enjoy! I hope this gets everyone in the christmas mood if they celebrate, or just in the winter wonderland mood if they don't.

Soft light filtered through the windows of Harry’s new bedroom, turning every dust mote into a sparkling glittery bauble. The sundrenched room came slowly into focus as he blinked his eyes open, just a few seconds of peace before he realised there was no way it should be daylight when he woke up at 7am on the first of December. He was late.

“Fuck!” 

Harry wasn’t in the habit of talking to himself, especially not of shouting at himself, but needs must. He was an hour late getting up, he’d stubbed his toe jumping out of bed, and there was no time for a shower, let alone for a much needed cup of coffee. He’d only been at this new job for three days, only lived in this new flat for five, and already he had managed to sleep through his alarm. The self-flagellation was well earned.

Fifteen minutes later he had dressed, brushed his teeth, managed half a slice of toast and run out the door. It was only half way down the road that he realised the travel mug of coffee, which he’d wasted precious minutes to make, was still sat beside his kettle on the counter in his kitchen. Very much not in his hand. Very much not about to be in his stomach.

Despite the fact it would only make him later, there was no way Harry could face the Northern line without caffeine, not at rush hour. He wasn’t a seasoned Londoner yet, the tube still made him slightly uneasy and nervous, he needed coffee like a drowning man needed air. There was a Starbucks just down from the tube station, and while it wouldn’t be good coffee it would be coffee, and right in that moment that was all he cared about.

The windows of the coffee shop were steamed up. The crisp cold of the outside air contrasting with the steamy warmth of the inside. It made the place look far more cosy and inviting than Harry really thought a Starbucks should. That feeling only intensified as he was hit with the smell of roasting coffee when the door opened, backed with the sweet scent of pastries and syrups. 

He was lucky, the line was only a few people deep. Some of them seemed to be wasting time with strange complicated confections, but Harry only wanted coffee. Pure, unadulterated (well okay, a splash of milk please), strong, fragrant, coffee. The line moved him slowly but surely towards coffee, and salvation.

Salvation was served by a blonde Irishman, who was inexplicably chipper for eight-thirty in the morning. He tried to upsell muffins and croissants but seemed unperturbed when Harry ordered a simple medium white americano. Blondie doodled the order onto the cup with a smiley face beside it, but didn’t ask for Harry’s name. A swipe of his card and Harry was free to move down to the other end of the bar, where he promptly fell in lust.

The man making coffee was small, curvy, and beautiful. He moved between the grinder and the machine, the fridge and the blenders, with the grace of a gymnast. There was a rhythm to his actions that lulled Harry into watching his dance. The fact he was in a rush was forgotten if being late meant he got to watch this coffee providing angel work for a few seconds longer. It was like the boy’s movements were casting a spell; take three shots of coffee, one dash of milk, mix it all together with a shake of your ( _ frankly incredible _ ) arse and you’ve got black magic.

“One boring coffee to go?” The spell shattered, reality, lateness and embarrassment coming rushing back into Harry’s awareness. Boring coffee? His coffee choices were perfectly normal thank you very much. Good coffee shouldn’t be ruined with syrups and nonsense after all. If he was honest with himself, he was mostly upset at being called out by the person he had just been fantasising over in a public place, but he was rarely honest with himself before at least one cup of caffeine.

Before he could respond the boy was looking right at him, an accusatory smirk marring his beautiful face (it didn’t mar it, not at all, if anything it made Harry’s lust even stronger,  _ dammit _ ). “White americano? You need to listen for your order, curly.”

Harry grabbed the cup roughly, nearly burning himself in the process as he caused coffee to spill over his fingers. He could feel his face colouring, shame creeping up his neck all because a pretty boy had called him out on his coffee preferences. It was ridiculous. 

“See you tomorrow!” The bastard called out to Harry as he left, just before the door shut behind him. Yeah, as if. Over Harry’s dead body would he volunteer to be humiliated by pretty boys who made, he took a sip,  _ sinfully _ wonderful coffee.

  
  
  
  



	2. Violet jumpers and caramel coffees

Harry had definitely given no thought to the rude barista after he had left the coffee shop, none at all. He definitely didn’t have the empty cup still sitting on his desk at work, that would be creepy after all. He also hadn’t spent half an hour looking through Starbucks’ menu on their website during his lunch break, wondering what would be considered not boring but might also be drinkable. It was a hypothetical sort of wondering anyway, seeing that he wouldn’t be going back. One hundred percent, never again, not a chance.

Which was of course why he was standing in the kitchen of his flat, holding up two jumpers to his, very bemused, new housemate Liam, asking which one he should wear today.

“I thought you could dress down on Fridays?” Liam scrunched his face up as he spoke, making him look like some sort of adorable puppy, but Harry didn’t have time to waste on explanations and reasoning, he was too busy trying to persuade himself that as soon as he chose a jumper he would make himself a cup of coffee to take on the tube and that would be the end of that.

“I can. That’s why I need a jumper. Obviously.” He knew his tone was snappish but really it was seven thirty and he hadn’t had coffee yet. There was no reason for that, he would make one right away, he just hadn’t found the time yet.

“Obviously,” Liam muttered under his breath in a tone Harry wasn’t sure he cared for. He hadn’t lived with Liam long enough to really complain yet, however. They’d been friends at uni, but not super close. When Liam had moved to London they had stayed in touch, occasional texts and the like, but nothing more until Liam had posted a panicked message on facebook that his housemate was breaking his lease, and Liam would be homeless if he didn’t find someone soon. Apparently, he had just upped and left to America with his new girlfriend, not even a goodbye and thanks for all the fish. It had worked out perfectly seeing that Harry had been facing the prospect of a hostel while he found somewhere last minute after his new job decided they needed him at the start of December and not January.

“The purple one,” Liam declared, sounding nothing if not fully unsure of his choice. Harry looked down at the jumpers, one a dark maroon and one a pale violet. Neither were purple but the violet was closer. 

Fifteen minutes later and Harry was walking to the tube. He still told himself he would get a costa at the other end, despite knowing full well that was a lie, and so when he pushed open the door to Starbucks it was with a heavy sigh and an internal plea that at least he had tried and so no one could judge him.

The queue was longer today, which just gave him more time to worry about his order. The boy was at the till this time, with the Irishman making the drinks. With each person who ordered Harry changed his internal script in his head. The man with the Barbour, who ordered a filter coffee, had Harry thinking he should just do the same. Screw the beautiful boy and his inevitable judgement. The girl with the red handbag who ordered a soy chai latte with an extra shot of vanilla just had Harry confused, why was coffee so complicated? His mind dithered back and forth between something simple like a latte, or one of the Christmas drinks that might somehow impress the boy. Not that Harry was looking to impress. He just wanted to show the boy he wasn’t boring, then he could leave and never return and never worry about what some stranger thought of him. 

“Hello again, boring coffee to go?” The smirk was evident in the barista’s tone before Harry even realised it was his turn and made eye contact. 

“No. Caramel Macchiato. Medium.” Harry hoped his voice was steady and emotionless because he certainly wasn’t. How could anyone be, when confronted by those stupidly blue eyes before eight am? His knees felt a little bit wobbly and his heart was somewhere around his stomach, or maybe it was in his throat and the feeling in his stomach was butterflies? He wasn’t entirely sure.

One eyebrow quirked. That was it. Just one slight acknowledgement of Harry’s more adventurous order. How was that even fair? It wasn’t enough. It had to be enough, but it wasn’t. Stupid boys with stupid eyes and stupid arses and stupid quirking eyebrows.

The boy caught his eye when his drink was called, a speculative smile playing around his lips. It seemed judgemental to Harry like he knew Harry had only ordered it to impress him. The eye contact held as Harry took his first sip. Too hot, too sweet, too milky, but drinkable. His eyes closed for a moment as he swallowed, appreciating the first hit of caffeine even when it came in too complicated a form. As his eyes opened he smiled at the boy, challenging him to quirk that damn eyebrow again, but the boy had turned back to his customers, apparently not even bothered by Harry’s reaction.

Harry turned to leave, trying to tell himself it didn’t matter and he didn’t care. He hoped for some parting jab like the previous day, lingering in the doorway for a second just in case. The door closed behind him with a click, leaving him standing in the cold with just the coffee to warm him. It was ridiculous, really, caring so much what some barista in Starbucks thought of him. It had been two days. The shop had been busy. It really didn’t matter. 

  
Only it did, and Harry wasn’t sure why.


	3. Lima beans

 

The first thing Louis asked when he arrived for his Saturday shift was whether the boy with the curls had been in. Niall thought not, but Niall was notoriously unobservant so Louis wasn’t sure if he could be trusted. In frustration, he turned to his other colleague, Aamira.

“Quick question.” She rolled her eyes. Louis wasn’t impressed, this was important. “Has a bloke been in this morning, about six foot, early twenties, curly long brown hair, amazing eyes, probably ordered something simple?”

“As  _ wonderful  _ as your description is at narrowing down our clientele, Louis,” she laughed, “I don’t think so.”

His colleagues were incredibly unhelpful. The boy was the most interesting thing that had happened to his Starbucks in quite some time. It wasn’t normal to consider someone a regular after two visits, especially when Louis had mostly just pulled his pigtails, but the boy intrigued Louis. His reactions to the pigtail pulling slash flirting had been intense, for a start. The fact that his curls and eyes and legs and everything else went together in a way that should be ridiculous but was actually indescribably attractive just added a cherry on top of a very attractive pie.

There was a customer at the counter, tall, short hair, brown eyes, quite good looking if you liked that sort of thing. He seemed intrigued by Louis’ description of the boy, his head tilted slightly to one side and his mouth open as if he was about to speak. Louis had taken enough shit from customers for talking openly about being gay, though, and he wasn’t about to take any more.

“Can I help you?” He knew he snapped, but the man was a big boy, he could deal with it.

“Umm,” the man looked confused for a second before he collected himself. “White chocolate mocha, please.”

“To sit in or take away?” Louis was already grabbing a takeaway cup before the man had a chance to respond, he just shrugged his acquiescence.

“Your name?” He poised his pen, ready to massacre the man’s name in retaliation for absolutely nothing other than Louis’ own foul mood.

“Liam, thanks.” The guy swiped his card, moving down to Aamira to wait for his drink. Louis took some deep breaths, knowing he needed to calm down before he really snapped at someone and got himself in trouble. He wasn’t even sure why he was annoyed. He was just far too used already to seeing curls and green eyes within half an hour of his shift starting. There was a part of him that  _ knew  _ the man wouldn’t come in on a Saturday, and the thought of his eight-hour shift stretching before him with no curls in sight wound him up. 

“White chocolate mocha for ... Lima?” Aamira called, three minutes later, finally getting Louis to crack a smile as the guy scrunched up his nose and took it to a corner, plugging in his laptop and taking a pointed photo of his mug. 

When the guy left he hesitated by the counter for a moment, as if debating saying something or ordering something more. Maybe he was about to tell Louis off for writing his name wrong? There really was no excuse with something as simple as Liam, but still. With a small shake of his head, the guy moved on, leaving only a blast of cold air from the open door to show he had ever been there. 

Louis settled in for the rest of his shift. Every time the door opened he tensed slightly, before relaxing again when it wasn’t the boy with the curls. 

On his break he wandered down the main road for a little while, sipping on a white americano. He thought briefly that he spotted curls in the distance, but he couldn’t be sure, and how creepy would that be anyway? Being accosted by a barista you had met twice while you were on your way somewhere far more important than Starbucks. Curly probably had a date or something, probably with a girl. 

  
Louis sighed and threw his empty cup in the nearest bin, before turning away and heading back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No harry this chapter! Sorry for that, and a bit shorter than the past couple of days but back to Harry's pov tomorrow.
> 
> Thank you all for the wonderful comments, messages and kindness you've shown me. xxx


	4. Duvet days

It felt like it had hardly got light all day. Harry had woken late to overcast skies, and by the time he felt like a human being the sun was growing low in the sky. It was difficult to muster up the motivation to not feel sorry for himself on days like that.

Instead, he curled under his duvet, surrounded by a fort of pillows, cradling the mug of coffee he had just made and trying to persuade himself that it was  _ enough _ . In desperation the day before he had visited his favourite coffee shop. The trek down to borough was worth it as soon as he entered Monmouth and was assaulted by fresh roasted beans and creamy steamed milk. It was perfect, everything he looked for in a coffee shop. The barista was polite and professional, moving on quickly as he requested his flat white. His drink was rich and smooth and fragrant as it was handed to him in a reasonable sized cup, no half a litre of coffee to go in here. The sugar he didn’t need to add was raw and unrefined, served in a bowl on the counter. No packets of artificial sweeteners or caramel syrups in sight. 

Which was why, when he had sat down at a communal table and drank the perfect ode to coffee that was in his hands, he had no idea why he felt so bereft. Liam had come home after apparently going to Harry’s Starbucks and told him a boy who worked there was asking his colleagues if a bloke who sounded a lot like Harry had been in. Liam obviously teased him about how he had managed to get a reputation in only a week, but Harry had just been confused. The boy didn’t seem to like him. He seemed to think Harry was an idiot who couldn’t even drink coffee properly, and worst of all the day before the boy hadn’t even seemed to care. So why was he asking after Harry? Did being rude to Harry brighten up his day so much that he was upset at going without?

Not even a wander around borough market had cheered Harry up. No amount of free cheese samples or truffle oil stalls could shake him from the funk of having an inappropriate crush on the guy who worked in the coffee shop. He could be honest with himself, it was a crush. The boy was gorgeous, even if he was a massive wanker, and he fit Harry’s ‘type’ to a tee.

As he walked down to the Thames and stood being buffeted by the winter air that seemed to travel up the river from the sea with the tide, he made a deal with himself. He would go back once more, take in his fill of the boy, and never go to a Starbucks again as long as he lived. It might seem drastic but people were moved around shops he was sure, and so no Starbucks was safe. It was simple self-preservation.

Which was why he was curled in bed at four pm on a sunday afternoon, staring out into his already dark back garden, drinking a coffee he had made himself. It wasn’t that the coffee wasn’t good. It was excellent. He had bought a bag of beans back from monmouth the day before, weighed them out expertly, ground them perfectly, packed them precisely into his espresso machine, and made an americano to rival all americanos. Objectively it was great, even if Harry did say so himself.

Perhaps this whole thing was simply homesickness. He had only been in London for a week after all, and when he examined his feelings there was a healthy dose of missing his mum involved in them. He wasn’t pathetically pining over a near stranger! It was just homesickness and a strange new city combined with the new job. He had been projecting, of course.

A few texts later and Harry was ready to head across London to see his sister. They hadn’t had a chance to meet up since she had come over with a new mug the day Harry had moved in, and if he couldn’t have a hug from his mum, Gemma was by far the next best option. He wrapped a wide black and grey striped scarf around his neck, threw on a coat, and stepped out the door. The walk to the tube was dark and cold, and if the lit up shop front of starbucks seemed like a warm beacon drawing him in, that was really something he would rather not examine.

If he peered through the windows as he passed, looking for soft brown hair and curves that should be illegal, well, he would examine that another day when he had a few drinks inside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story line does and will start moving on a bit soon, promise :) x


	5. Cold brew and warm hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if people are sick of the pining... it will continue a bit but accompanied by lovely sweet flirting! Yay! 
> 
> Happy monday x

Louis couldn’t control himself on Monday morning when Curly walked into the shop. He could feel his smile splitting his face, knew he looked ridiculous for it, but could do nothing about it. The saving grace was that, after a moment of surprise, Curly smiled right back. There was a dimple, which definitely didn’t make Louis smile even harder, and a shy sweetness to his smile that just made Louis want to make him grin over and over again for a million different reasons.

Louis was, decidedly, fucked.

Their eyes met every few seconds as the queue moved Curly closer towards the till. It was like Louis’ eyes were caught in some sort of magnetic pull, where Curly was due north, and he couldn’t stop himself from focusing on the boy. He tried to keep his eyes on the customer in front of him, but they slid back to where they wanted to be looking, almost of their own accord. Not that Louis was exactly complaining.

Curly was wearing a long dark coat over a soft grey jumper and jeans that looked like he might have painted them on. His scarf was dark green and made his eyes sparkle in a way that Louis had until then been sure only happened in the romance novels his mum read. It was disconcerting, how pretty this boy was, how much Louis wanted him. Not just sexually either, although of course he wouldn’t say no, he wanted to know what was the boys favourite flavour of muffin, and how he liked his bacon cooked, and what he wanted to do with his life. It was overwhelming in the best possible way.

Curly was next in line, seeming to have taken a million years and no time at all, simultaneously. Louis’ mind suddenly went blank, no words ready to be spoken. Three years of working in Starbucks as a student and now while he freelanced and you would think it was his first day. No knowledge of coffee, no script, nothing. Just wide green eyes and shiny curls and dimples that were probably illegal in at least thirty-six countries.

“Hi?” Clearly, Louis had been staring too long because Curly was looking at him all shyly confused. Louis needed to pull himself together. Flirting wasn’t that hard, he thought, he’d done it before semi-successfully anyway. 

“Hi, what can I get you?” Not exactly the flirty response he had been aiming for but he had opened his mouth and the wrong words seemed to have fallen out. Louis was hopeless in the face of a pretty boy, it seemed.

“Umm, a cold brew with vanilla? I think?” Curly blushed as he told Louis his clearly unfamiliar order. It was about three degrees outside, hardly the weather for cold brew, but it seemed Curly had something to prove.

“You _think_ you want it?” Louis raised an eyebrow, Curly just shrugged apologetically. “Do you want milk?”

Another shrug, this one accompanied by the sort of impish grin that made Louis want to wrap Curly up in the scarf he wore and never let him go. It also made him want to help the boy with the coffee crisis he was clearly going through. It almost made him willing to admit that he only ever really drank a white americano, and he had only teased Curly due to wanting his attention. He wouldn’t admit it, he liked the idea of banter they seemed to have a chance at developing here too much to have Curly just vanish again. 

“Ok, one cold brew, vanilla syrup, a dash of milk. What’s the name?” They only really had to ask for names on common orders at busy times, which this was not, but Louis had one way to find out Curly’s name that didn’t involve him being braver than he felt right in that moment, and he wasn’t about to lose it.

“Harry,” the name was served up with a grin and a side order of Louis-killing-dimple. Louis carefully wrote it on the side of the cup, with a smiley face beside it. Harry. It suited the boy. With his curls and his face and his everything, there was something regal about him. Louis was obviously completely biased but he liked it anyway.

When Harry’s drink was made Louis made sure to look and see what his reaction was. He’d barely been able to watch when Harry had drunk his caramel macchiato on Friday. The way his eyes had fluttered closed made Louis think of all the other things he might like to do to make Harry look like that. The way his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed made Louis want to lick columns down his throat, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin. Definitely not things he could focus on at work. This time, though, this time Harry held his gaze. His eyes didn’t close, although the lids fluttered slightly. Instead, they burned into Louis like lasers. 

The small smile Harry afforded him, just before he left the shop, kept Louis warm all day. 

Maybe tomorrow Louis would let him order a normal coffee. He considered it, but the butterflies in his stomach at the thought of teasing Harry implied he probably wouldn't. How long would he let it go on? Well, that was the question he wasn't able to answer, even when Niall gave him appraising looks that became more and more judgemental as Louis made more and more excuses about Harry just being a customer.

In truth, Louis suspected Harry wasn't _just_ anything.


	6. Not gingerbread lattes

The change in temperature from the boy the day before had thrown Harry. He’d been so determined to go back one last time, see the boy, and then forget he existed, that the sudden warmth and flirting had knocked him for six. Not that he hadn’t enjoyed the flirting, it certainly beat the teasing and rudeness of the previous week. Maybe he would be able to get coffee at the Starbucks every so often and not die of embarrassment in the process.

The jumper he put on today was a deep maroon Aran knit. It was soft and cosy and his mum said he looked good in it at least. She was usually good with boyfriends and dating and stuff, Harry had spent many a night curled up in the kitchen with a cuppa telling her all his woes. She was a lady to be trusted. He hadn’t actually told her about the coffee boy yet. He hadn’t even told Gemma when he had been to see her. It all seemed so ephemeral and unreal. The feelings he was having were so extreme for how little he knew about the boy and it made him blush to even think about them, let alone admit to them out loud, where they became real.

Today’s mission was to find out the boy’s name. There was only so long he could call someone ‘coffee boy’ in his head before he started to make up names for them, and he wasn’t sure coffee boy would appreciate being called something ridiculous and punny like .. well all his mind could come up with was Joe, but that was silly enough in and of itself. He had a moment of blind panic imagining how he would react if the coffee boy was actually called Joe, mostly because he imagined himself laughing in the boy’s face, before he managed to propel himself out of his bedroom and into the hall to leave the house.

“Going to see your coffee boy again?” Liam called from the kitchen where he appeared to be deep in concentration over his phone and would have shown no indication he had even noticed Harry, were it not for the words he had just spoken. Liam seemed to have no respect for Harry’s belief that talking about coffee boy and his crush out loud made it realer and therefore scarier, but that was Liam for you.

“I’m going to get coffee on the way to work, yes.” Harry articulated the words pointedly, growing only more frustrated when Liam just smirked as he continued to stare at his phone.

“Oh? If you aren’t going to see him maybe I’ll walk with you. We could try the costa the other side of the station?” Liam looked up just in time to catch the appalled expression that Harry tried to hide, laughing as Harry spluttered out his excuses. “Go, get your boy”

Laughter followed Harry out of the flat, putting a slight spring in his step as he walked down the foggy road towards the golden beacon that was Starbucks. If you had told him a week before that he would be referring to Starbucks like that, even in his head, he would have told you to stop being uncultured. Now, however, Starbucks held more than just overroasted coffee and over-sweet syrups. It held the boy with caramel hair and an arse to die for.

The queue was only two people deep, but the boy wasn’t at the counter today. Harry peered behind the coffee machine, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. Nothing. His heart plummeted. It was silly, really. He knew intellectually that sometimes coffee boy must work different shifts or have days off. It just didn’t stop him being bitterly disappointed. 

They had only started flirting yesterday, it was just too soon to be not watering the tiny seed of  _ something _ that they had between them.

The door behind Harry opened with a bang and a burst of cold air, accompanied by an eye roll in the direction of whoever had come in from the barista who was serving.

“Sorry! Sorry, I’m late! The bus hit a bike in the fog.” Harry froze. It sounded like the boy, but if he turned round and saw the person who had just come in it might not be the boy. He stared straight ahead. Schrodinger's crush. While he didn’t know it could both be the boy and not be the boy. All possibilities were open.

“Hi, Harry!” A hand landed on his shoulder and he turned before he could even think, eyes meeting the bright smile of the boy with the arse. The boy moved on before Harry could even react, ducking behind the counter and tying a green apron around his waist.

“What can I get you?” Harry was still slightly struck dumb. The cold air and breeze outside had left the boy looking dishevelled and gorgeous. There was a pink flush to his cheeks and a wild magic in his eyes that Harry wanted to bottle and sell as a natural high. He would make a fortune.

“Umm,” He tried to remember what he had intended on ordering but his mind was blank. He desperately scanned the menu. “Uh, a gingerbread latte?” 

The boy's nose scrunched, but Harry couldn’t tell if that was a good or a bad thing. He didn’t even notice the price, just handed over his card and smiled at the boy in a way that he hoped was winning and not serial-killer-stalker. The boy smiled back warmly as he scribbled on the cup and handed it to his colleague, so it was probably ok.

His plan to find out the boys name seemed to have flown out the door when the boy had flown in. He was just caught so off guard. He stood, watching the boy move with the grace of a dancer, flitting between the fridges and the pastry cases and the till with practised ease. The boy was just so gorgeous, was the thing, and Harry felt again that there was some sort of magic being woven by the boy as he worked. It seemed to have sucked Harry in from day one, and he was self-aware enough to realise that the spell wasn’t about to be broken anytime soon. The boy had remembered his name, after all. It struck him all of a sudden. The boy had remembered his name. That had to mean something, right?

His coffee was handed over by the pretty girl in a hijab, accompanied by a knowing smile and a wink. Harry hoped he wasn’t famous in this Starbucks for creeping on the cute barista, but consoled himself that even if he was they seemed to be taking it well.

His fluster over the boy remembering his name, touching his shoulder, smiling at him, led him out of the shop in a daze before he even realised he hadn’t taken a sip of his drink or said goodbye to the boy.

As he rummaged in his pocket for his oyster card he took his first mouthful. It tasted like normal coffee. That was wrong, surely? He took another. Definitely no syrups or whipped cream or other nonsense. He was nearly on the tube when he realised there was something more written on the cup than his name and his order.

_ I didn’t think you’d like the gingerbread. It’s not good. Louis x _


	7. Don't cry over spilled coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the love yesterday, sorry this is late going up

 

Louis had thought over his note and his actions the day before a million times. Had it been too forward, making assumptions about Harry’s taste? Should he have left his number too? No, that was way too forward, not to mention unprofessional. He wanted to give Harry his number. He hated that he only saw Harry for about five minutes each day. It was like being given a tiny morsel of delicious food every day and then being fed gruel for the rest of the day. Louis wasn’t dramatic. His friends may say he was, but they were wrong. Louis was just honest with himself, and others. 

Harry was late, which really wasn’t helping with Louis’ overthinking issues. He may only have been coming into the starbucks for four days and one of those he had been significantly later than the other times, but he seemed to be quite a creature of habit (if his stress over new coffee was to be taken into account) and so him being late stressed Louis out. Maybe he wasn’t coming. Maybe the note on the cup had been creepy. Maybe Louis had misread the entire situation and Harry had decided Louis was coming on too strong and had gone elsewhere for coffee?

“Give it time, Lou, he’s probably just late because he’s choosing the perfect jumper to seduce you across the bar in.” Niall was really not a helpful friend in any capacity. Now all Louis could think about was Harry in a soft baggy jumper and very little else. It did nothing to help the pining he was perfectly aware he was doing.

Ten customers later and Louis was agitated. It was nearly half past eight and still no sign of Harry. There had been a girl with a pair of shoes in a bag, and a man with a moustache that could rival the dad from the wild thornberries, but no curly haired boy with green eyes and dimples. There had been an idiot who had ordered the most complicated coffee Louis had every had the misfortune to be asked to make, and who had insisted it be remade twice, but not deep voice and long legs and shy smile. 

Louis was close to breaking point when he looked up from the coffee machine and saw a grinning imp of a boy with his wild curls poking out from under a bright red knitted beanie.

“Hi Louis!” He sounded slightly breathless, like he had run half of the way to the shop, and the flush on his cheeks that accompanied that was best not examined. He also sounded nervous, like maybe he shouldn’t be using Louis’ name. It sounded intimate dropping from his lips, like a promise of something that Louis desperately wanted.

“Hey, I didn’t think you were coming,” Louis spoke before his brain really registered what he was saying. He hadn’t intended to sound so needy, but there was no point in pretending otherwise now.

“I worked late last night, boss said I could come in later today. I’ve got time to sit if you’re...” Harry trailed off, suddenly seeming very interested in his own shoes.

“It’s the middle of the rush,” Louis was so torn, he wanted so badly to sit with the boy, talk to him properly, but he would get fired. “Sit though, I’ll come over if I can?”

Harry’s eyes lit up again, after dimming when Louis said no. It made Louis want to make him glow like that always. It made Louis wonder what he looked like when glowing for other reasons. Which made Louis need to reach down and subtly adjust himself in his trousers. This boy would be the death of him.

Louis picked up the next cup in his pile of orders, a toffee nut latte, and got started on it while fully aware of Harry’s eyes watching his every move. If he put a little extra shake in his movements then no one would be able to prove a thing anyway. With a final pizzaz he drizzled syrup on top of the cup and placed it on the collection bar, calling it as he did so. He was a little shocked to see Harry pick up the cup, but really he shouldn’t be. The boy was clearly on some sort of mission to drink his way through the menu, and Louis found it strangely endearing. One day he hoped he had the chance to admit he only drank white coffee or tea, but definitely not yet.

He watched as Harry took a seat at the table closest to the collection bar, clearly still watching Louis intently as he sipped. His face scrunched up on the first swallow in an incredibly attractive manner. It shouldn’t be attractive, but it was like he was fighting his natural facial expression by just screwing his entire face up, and Louis loved it.

The queue was long, and Louis wasn’t able to get a chance to go over to Harry, but they exchanged some long and lingering looks over espresso that made Louis feel like some sort of maiden in an eighteen hundred novel. They also exchanged some knowing smiles and rolled eyes over certain customers and their orders, which warmed Louis’ heart that the boy was possibly as salty as he was.

Just before Harry finished his drink Louis had an epiphany. It involved spilled coffee and possibly getting shouted at by his supervisor, but it was worth it. The next cup he placed on the collection bar was just too close to the edge, so close in fact that a slight nudge would send it toppling to the ground. Oops. Louis would have to clean that up.

Handing the coffee making off to Niall, Louis went around the bar, closer to Harry. He bent slowly, making sure to arch his back and stick out his arse just the tiniest bit. Mopping up coffee wasn’t sensual or sexy, but Louis only had minimal resources to work with. The slightly choked gulp from behind him told him it was working anyway.

Louis chanced a glance as he mopped up the drink with paper towels. Harry’s eyes were glued to his arse. Perfect. Any doubts Louis may have had about Harry’s sexuality, which had been practically non-existent to begin with, went out the door with the breeze and the last customer.

Harry rose from his chair while Louis was still cleaning, the blush he worse clashing delightfully with the light green jumper he wore. Louis had never seen anyone look sexier.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Harry choked the words out, voice gruffer and more affected than Louis had dared to hope for.

“See you,” Louis grinned at him as he swept out of the door, his smile only growing as he watched through the window while Harry put his head in his hands and clearly schooled himself to get it together. 

  
As Harry walked out of his sight Louis sighed. Tomorrow seemed a long way away.


	8. Too sweet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is late, and short, and not as in-depth but it feels like literally everything has happened today and it's been incredibly hard to write with my phone blowing up and tumblr blowing up and a friend staying. So massive apologies. Back on it properly tomorrow x

Harry had spent all day thinking about Louis and his arse. The way his back had curved as he had mopped up that coffee should be illegal. Harry had been distracted all day at work, unable to stop messaging Liam about how he was possibly fucked as the boy in Starbucks was trying to ruin his life.

That was why he had tried on fifteen jumpers before eight am and had had three minor meltdowns over burned toast, Liam taking too long in the shower, and his favourite shoes not being where he thought they were. All in all the day was starting well. 

Liam had been especially unhelpful when he had suggested that had Harry just made himself coffee he might be able to cope with the world better. Harry had snapped at him about the illogic of having to have coffee to go and get coffee and Liam had thrown a slice of toast at him in retaliation. It had taken Harry ten minutes to be sure the butter was out of his hair before he could leave the house. 

The queue was almost out the door when Harry got to Starbucks, ten minutes later than normal due to the toast. Louis was at the till and grinned at him as soon as their eyes met. The butterflies that seemed to have moved into Harry’s tummy on a near permanent basis started dancing a conga. By the time he was at the counter there was a full on hurricane raging inside him. Louis’ smile, though, it was soft, and gentle, and kind, and it released the tension Harry was holding, soothing his butterfly storm in one fell swoop. 

“Hello, Harry,” Louis’ voice was teasing and warm. “Today you’re having a grande eggnog latte, aren’t you?” Harry could only gape. He started to shake his head, there was no way he wanted that much sugar another morning in a row (he had felt the toffeenut latte all day), but Louis pouted and that turned Harry’s shake almost instantly into a tentative shrug. The grin came back in full force, dazzling Harry. The sugar was worth it.

Louis scribbled on the cup, paused, looked speculatively at Harry for a moment, and then wrote some more, before passing it off to a tall boy with a quiff who was working the coffee machine. With a wink, Louis turned back to his next customer, but not before he slid a packet of shortbread biscuits across the counter to Harry. 

The wait was longer than normal, allowing Harry to watch Louis in detail. His face was so expressive, showing all of his feelings flitting across it in vivid detail. Disgust at some people’s coffee choices, respect for others’, humour, annoyance, exhaustion, boredom. It was like watching a movie, and Harry could watch it all day.

His name being called dragged him back into the present. His coffee was sat on the collection bar, and Louis’ attention was all of a sudden back on him like a spotlight. Harry smiled back at him, picking up the cup and taking a sip. It was rich, too sweet and too creamy, but Louis had chosen it, Louis had thought about him and what he might want, and that made it bearable.

One last smile and Harry was rushing back into the cold outside air. By the time he got to the tube the drink was cooling, getting less drinkable by the second. He was about to dump it when he looked at the cup one last time.

_ H, too sweet I know, but that seems like it might suit you, L x _

Harry grinned. He dumped the drink out into the gutter, keeping the cup. It somehow kept his hands warm as he clutched it all the way to work. 


	9. apologies

With everything that has happened today I am going to take a break from writing this. I will keep you guys updated but it doesn't feel like an appropriate thing to be doing right now. Hopefully I will be back in a day or two. I know we will all need a positive 

Rest in Peace Jay. You were an amazing woman and amazing mother. My thoughts are with the entire family

Sheena 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos and messages on tumblr give me the motivation to write each day's update. I have it all planned out but I am writing it daily. I can't promise to reply to every message, as last year if i had done that there would have been no time to write, but I see them all and will reply as and when I can. I love you guys, last year you were so kind and lovely and made me want to try this again x


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